For ancient people, craftsmanship was extremely precious—it was the foundation for supporting a family, continuing the family line, and bringing honor to the household. They would rather die than reveal their secrets. Edward Grant was well aware of the stakes involved. Not long after, he brought ten women, signaled everyone to wait, and hurried over to Henry Brooks, whispering, “Young master, these women are absolutely trustworthy. Also, they have signed indenture contracts; from now on, they are household servants.”

“Do not force them,” Henry Brooks said quietly, feeling some aversion to the idea of indenture contracts.

Edward Grant explained, “Young master, there was no coercion—they all volunteered. If there weren’t a limited number of spots, even more people would want to come. To master a skill that can make a living, no one would refuse.”

Henry Brooks suddenly realized that this was ancient times, the Tang Dynasty, not the modern era. Although there were no human rights, in times when survival was difficult, selling oneself to a wealthy household was a great honor for those struggling at the bottom of society—something they longed for. Moreover, once the indenture contract was signed, they became the master’s private property; even if they were beaten or killed, the authorities would not pursue it. With this kind of binding relationship, betrayal was unlikely.

Such was the era; Henry Brooks could not change it, only adapt. He said in a deep voice, “Let them come up.”

Soon, the ten women stepped forward and respectfully saluted. “Greetings, young master.”

After signaling for everyone else to leave, Henry Brooks looked at the somewhat nervous group and smiled, “No need to be nervous. Next, I will teach you a tea-frying technique. If you do well, you’ll earn one tael of silver per month; if not, you’ll go back to your original work. Do you all understand?”

Everyone was anxious, not knowing what tea-frying was or whether it was difficult, but upon hearing about earning a tael of silver, they were all surprised and became eager to learn.

Edward Grant was also surprised. The usual monthly wage was only three hundred wen, but now it had suddenly risen to one tael, which was one thousand wen—more than triple. He realized he had underestimated the value of tea-frying skills. With a stern face, he added, “The young master is benevolent, passing on this precious skill to you and even giving you a tael as a monthly wage. This is unheard of in all of Chang’an. Work hard. If anyone leaks the secret, the young master is merciful and won’t say anything, but I will wipe out her entire family. Remember that.”

Everyone’s expressions changed, and they quickly took note.

Henry Brooks glanced at Edward Grant, who was like a mother hen fiercely protecting her chicks, afraid he would suffer a loss. He felt a bit moved. Thinking it over, a warning and some rules beforehand were not a bad idea. He continued, “Don’t be nervous. You are all long-time members of the household and trustworthy. Come forward.”

Everyone stepped up, nervous, curious, uneasy—a mix of emotions.

Henry Brooks took in all their expressions but said nothing. He opened a bag of tea leaves and poured them into a large bamboo tray, explaining, “The first step in tea-frying is cleaning. Fresh tea leaves inevitably have some small bugs, debris, and impurities that must be removed first. This isn’t difficult—give it a try.”

Everyone was used to manual labor and farm work, so they were adept at this. They stepped up, and before long, the bag of tea was cleaned. There were indeed some bits of debris and impurities, though no bugs were found, but this step could not be skipped.

Henry Brooks pointed to three tea-frying stoves and said, “The second step is frying the tea. There are three stages: raw pan, green pan, and ripe pan. The three pans are connected and operated in sequence. There’s a mnemonic for you to remember: ‘First pan, full pan rotation; second pan, add some strength; third pan, drill the handle.’”

After speaking, Henry Brooks paused to let everyone absorb the information.

After a moment, Henry Brooks signaled to light the fire. While demonstrating, he explained, “The raw pan is mainly for de-enzyming. The pan temperature should not exceed two hundred degrees. Add about one jin of leaves. Use the tea-frying broom to stir and mix quickly and evenly, shaking the leaves apart. As for the stirring time, just count to one hundred in your mind—don’t count too fast. One count per breath in and out. When the leaves become soft and dark green, you can move on to the green pan.”

In ancient times, there were no clocks, so the stirring time was one to two minutes. This was hard to describe, but for these uneducated women, counting was the only understandable and memorable method. One breath in and out was about one second; one hundred times was one hundred seconds.

The brief one hundred seconds quickly passed. Henry Brooks used the tea-frying broom to sweep the leaves directly into the second pan, demonstrating as he continued, “The second pan is the green pan. This step continues de-enzyming and begins the initial rolling of the leaves. The pan temperature is slightly lower than the raw pan. Because the friction between the tea and the pan wall is greater, you need to use more force than in the raw pan—so ‘add some strength.’ Make the leaves rotate in the pan with the tea-frying broom, starting to roll them into strips. At the same time, shake the tea clumps apart to release heat. When the leaves are curled into strips, the tea juice sticks to the surface, and they feel sticky to the touch, you can sweep them into the ripe pan.”

This process took a bit longer. Henry Brooks let everyone try, correcting anyone who did it wrong on the spot. Seeing that Henry Brooks was not angry but instead patiently taught them by hand, everyone was touched, and their nervousness gradually faded, making it much easier to learn.